


Everything Nice

by shinigami_yumi



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Christmas Cookies, Christmas Fluff, Domestic, Established Relationship, Figging, First Christmas, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nipple Play, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 11:58:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinigami_yumi/pseuds/shinigami_yumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared visits Misha for Christmas. They can't keep their hands off each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything Nice

**Author's Note:**

> Some time back, I heard there'd be a [Sastiel Secret Santa](http://tumblr.com/tagged/sassysanta2013). I couldn't bear the thought of there being no Mishalecki Christmas, so I wrote some sexytimes. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Many thanks to [Meinarch](http://sassypancakes.tumblr.com) for the cookies! ♥

Misha has just put the last batch of cookies in the oven when the doorbell rings. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of orange boxers under the apron, but he doesn’t think his guest will mind. It’s Jared at the door, in the usual plaid shirt and jeans with a beanie to match the green scarf Misha knitted for him last year. He’s holding flowers and a bottle of wine as if it’s their first date. Never mind that their actual first date, and he's not sure it even counts, had been watching an episode they worked on together over pizza and a couple of beers in Jared’s trailer. He’s guessing the romantic had even looked up flower meanings for this one — peach blossoms and strawberry flowers aren’t common florist fare.

“Perfect goodness with unparalleled charms and qualities?” He raises an eyebrow as he accepts the bouquet. “Since when is your praise so generously forthcoming?”

Jared laughs. “I don’t know. I really liked that part where you spent about three years helping to build a children’s centre in Haiti." He ducks his head a little, that thing his character does when he's nervous or shy. It is no less endearing on him. "So are you going to let me in or was answering the door merely an excuse to luxuriate in your underwear and a frilly apron before the passersby?"

Misha grins and steps aside. "It's not like they can see through the giant in their way."

Olive eyes light up with an almost childlike excitement as Jared enters. "Mm, I smell cookies!" 

"Yup!" He leads the way indoors. "Orange and ginger oatmeal for me, white chocolate macadamia for you. I even bought you frosting and sprinkles." He points at the tubs of frosting in various colors on the table, much to Jared's delight.

"You're the best, Mish," Jared declares, leaning over to press a kiss into his temple. “Sometimes it’s easy to forget, but I’m usually completely sure.”

“Only usually?”

The other sticks out his tongue, then holds up the wine for him to see — pinot noir, 2008; he approves. He remembers them buying this in Rome on their first convention trip there together. He’d thought Jared would have polished it off by now, but he’s charmed to be the special occasion Jared’s saved it up for.

“Now, during or after dinner?”

“How about a bit of all three?” he suggests, returning to the dough he was about to knead on the kitchen counter.

“Great minds clearly think alike,” comes the reply as Jared fetches the opener from its drawer and a wine glass from its cabinet with a homelike familiarity.

It’s really only the third time Jared’s been here. They spend most of the year working, and then there’s visiting during the holidays, so they see way more of their trailers than their own houses, much less each other’s. Jared’s place is nice, cosy —Jensen used to live there with him too— but he really likes Misha’s house, so that’s where they meet now. It’s also their first Christmas together. They usually spend the day with family, but this year, everyone else decided to travel to warmer places for the season.

“And fools seldom differ,” he ripostes as the cork pops out easily, beginning to knead the dough.

Jared smells the wine and takes an experimental sip before pouring more into the glass and sashaying over to the Christmas carols playing softly on the stereo. “If I’m a fool, my love, it is all for you,” he intones dramatically, holding out the wine glass with an exaggerated bow.

Laughing, Misha inhales deeply of the wine’s aroma and nods. “Which young adult romance novel have you been reading this time?” He takes a sip when Jared tilts the glass obligingly.

"Does it matter?" Jared wraps an arm around his waist and drinks several sips, watching him turn the dough. "What bread are you making?"

"Garlic and herb focaccia." He resumes kneading. "To go with the kale and sausage stew."

“That sounds delicious.” Jared sets the wine glass down to wrap both arms around Misha and rest his chin on Misha's head, swaying them to O Holy Night.

"Stop rubbing in how much bigger you are," Misha complains with a mock pout. He leans back though, rests his head on a broad shoulder and lets the other sway him along.

"Don't worry, Mish," Jared assures him with a grin, reaching up to skim his nipples through the apron. "I know _exactly_ how big you are, and I'm not complaining."

"Jared," he warns, shifting against him. "Do you want dinner or not?"

"Hmm... As delicious as your cooking is,” large hands slip beneath the apron to roll the nubs between the thumb and forefinger, “I find myself far more interested in the chef."

Misha opens his mouth to protest, but all that comes out is a soft moan as sparks of pleasure go straight down. Granted, he’d decided to do this shirtless because he didn’t want to get any ingredients on his clothes, but he couldn’t deny he knew full well what doing so would invite. “I need to finish this, you monster,” he manages, a little breathless.

“I’m not restraining your hands,” Jared murmurs against the shell of Misha’s ear, tracing his lover’s areolae in slow circles. “You can continue.”

“Fuck you, Jared,” Misha groans as his cock thickens, fingers curling in the dough. Jared knows exactly how sensitive his nipples are, how easy it is to reduce him to a writhing wanton mess just like this, had discovered this their second time in his trailer, and Misha had gone from not even close to mid-orgasm in fucking seconds. _Jesus Christ._ He braces himself on the counter. “For our next endurance event, you’re going to collect pledges based on how many minutes you can continue kneading dough while I rim you. Fuck, _ah_ ; you’ll see how hard it is.”

“You know, I think present tense is just fine here,” comes the cheery reply with a light pinch, and his retort is lost in a loud gasp as his knees turn to jelly. He’s already leaking in his boxers, a prominent tent in the apron. “You should continue though,” the other advises conversationally, holding him up and dipping long fingers in the dish of oil on the counter. Then he's back to circling the nubs with a featherlight touch, and it's slick now, suggestively wet. A fingertip lingers for a moment on the freckle, and it’s gratifying, hot as hell that Jared remembers exactly where it is. “Or you’ll never finish.”

He takes a deep breath, turns the dough again and valiantly tries to continue. He really wants dinner to be good. Jared doesn’t even really like kale, but he’ll eat it for Misha, and the stew is Jared’s favourite of all the new kale recipes Misha’s tried in hopes of getting him to genuinely enjoy the vegetable.

A little flick elicits a whimper, and he drops his head to his arms before turning to glare. “Not for the lack of trying, y—ahh!” A rougher flick has another bead of precum trickling down his painfully hard length, and he gives up — it’s an exercise in futility. “Damn it, Jare, you’re ruining dinner.”

Jared doesn’t answer, just starts rhythmically flicking with his index fingers, and God, Jared could have been fisting his cock with the way he’s fucking air, crying out softly at every jolt of pleasure. “J—Jared, ahahahh…” He tries to rut into the counter, anything to get some much needed friction, but Jared pulls him back out of reach.

“Please,” Jared whispers, their bodies flush. “Let me see you come untouched, Mish,” nibbling on the shell of his ear. “You can, can’t you? Like this?” Jared pinches his nipples harder, and his knees buckle.

“Nngh, y—yes…” God, he’s _close_.

Jared’s practically carrying him now, thigh wedged between his to hold him up, the bread all but forgotten. He nips a trail down Misha’s neck, unties the apron with his teeth, and Misha lets it fall away. Then they’re kissing with such zeal, the way Jared does everything, and he’s never felt more wanted than when they’re together like this. His mouth goes slack with a wanton moan, hands fisting in the dough, as his lover strums sensitive nubs with all four fingertips — first one then the other, again and again. Each time, he almost comes; it’s _almost_ enough. His boxers are soaked, and a shudder runs through him as precum drips onto his sensitized balls. He tries to rut into Jared's thigh, but can't get any traction.

“Please, fuck, please,” he whines, frustrated, head turned so his lips move over his lover’s chiseled jaw. For a moment, all he can smell is Jared’s spicy aftershave. “Stop teasing,” but the monster just sweeps a palm over each nub in turn, stopping each stroke right above his aching cock. He bites back another moan as it throbs in tandem, head thrown back, and Jared mouths hungrily at his exposed throat, tastes his heated skin. Then he starts tugging at them gently in turn, and Misha keens, back arching. “Jare!”

“Please.” Jared sounds utterly, utterly wrecked, and Misha wants to give him anything, _everything_ — it’s always like this. “Come for me, Mish.”

A twist, a tug, and the world whites out as a tidal wave of pleasure crashes over him. He sinks in Jared's arms, gasping for breath, trembling from the aftershocks, and Jared is mumbling “thank you” and “I love you” over and over into his skin like he’s been given a precious gift. Seed drips down his inner thighs, and it feels filthy, the kind of filthy that makes his cock twitch despite the recent orgasm. Jared's hard where their bodies are still pressed together as the oven dings, and he _wants_.

"Just let me put this in the oven," he mutters reluctantly, kneading the dough a few more times before fitting it into the pan.

Jared lets him go, draining the glass of wine and pouring another. He never wants to rush this. There's time enough for frenzied interludes in their trailers between takes, when the pranks escalate into concerted efforts not to rip the costumes in their hurry to get them off each other. They’d ripped a shirt, lost two buttons and ruined a zipper the first time, and explaining it to the Costume Department had been awkward to say the least.

Misha removes the cookies and puts them on the cooling rack, then puts the focaccia pan in and adjusts the settings. Jared holds out the glass of wine to him, and he takes it, sipping the wine as he undoes the buttons on the other’s shirt with his free hand. He catches olive eyes darting down to his legs, and he finishes the rest of the wine before setting the glass aside and pulling Jared down for another kiss. The lingering taste of berry and spice suits him, and Misha thinks this could be all he's ever wanted.

“I have a surprise for you,” he murmurs against soft lips as Jared tugs his boxers off.

They’ve made it all the way to the candlelit bedroom, half-dancing to Santa Baby, discarded clothing marking their path. Jared doesn’t like the lights on, but he wants to see, even just a little, so he’d lit some cinnamon-scented candles around. Not for the first time, he’s bewildered by his lover’s self-consciousness — Jared works out daily, and it shows. He’s the one who should be self-conscious, really, being eight years older than a lover who could have made it modelling underwear instead of acting.

But Jared’s here, and whatever it is that made him forge ahead that day in his trailer probably hasn’t changed. Four years later, Jared still looks at him with those smitten puppy eyes like he did that first day, still can’t keep his hands off whether they’re on or off the set, and it frustrates Misha to no end that he can’t find the words to explain why he doesn’t doubt that this will be exactly how it is twenty years from now even if it doesn’t end in wild sex anymore.

He runs his hands over flawless skin and smooth planes of muscle, the kind he’d once thought only existed on sculptures, trails his fingers through fine hair. “I think you’ll be intrigued.”

“Do you?” the other asks with an indulgent smile, lifting him and laying him down on the bed — their bed, he thinks; he wants it to be.

“Mmhm~” He’d had some leftover fresh ginger from making the stew, and he’d carved it into a nice little plug and left it in a small dish of water on the nightstand. “It’s n—nngh!” Jared is licking the cum off Misha’s inner thighs, and God— “J—Jared, ah, stop!” A stripe is licked up his half-hard cock, and he cries out immodestly. “S—stop,” he tries again, but Jared only hefts his knees up over broad shoulders, holds them apart to lick further back, and _fuckfuckfuck_ , “Jared, please!” It’ll be over again in minutes if they keep going like this, and he doesn’t think he has a third round in him.

Jared lifts his head to press a kiss to Misha’s again-leaking tip and is rewarded with a whimper. “So fucking beautiful, Mish,” with flushed, sweat-salty skin and inner thighs glistening where he’s licked them clean. It’s the image that has him fondling Misha’s balls during takes, especially now that it turns Misha on more often than not. He loves feeling them swell in his palm as his colleague giggles to cover up the way his cock just twitched in his pants, loves counting the minutes till Misha gives up and requests a breather to fuck him hard against the wall of his trailer. “Let me have you,” he murmurs, taking a sac into his mouth, and Misha moans, toes and fingers curling in the orange sheets. "Always, forever."

"Yes," Misha gasps readily. "Yes," and he shifts up to look into blue eyes, pressing their groins together.

"Yes?" he repeats with a fond smile, pecking the corners of Misha's mouth.

"Yes," Misha confirms, meeting his gaze with guileless adoration, and he drops his head to suck at a nipple and swirl his tongue around it.

Misha’s hips buck into his with a desperate whine, fingers tangling in his hair, and he shifts his attention to the other nub. One day, he thinks, he’d like to tie Misha up and tease his nipples with a feather or a paintbrush, lick maple syrup off them sometimes, keep Misha on the edge for hours.

“Ever thought of getting them pierced?” he asks, letting up at last.

Misha pushes him to lie on his stomach. “Yes. No. I’d cream my pants. It’d be awkward as fuck.”

He grins as Misha blankets his body, bites back a moan as Misha’s erection slots into the crease of his ass. “And if I learned to do it for you?” he asks breathlessly.

Misha laces their fingers and kisses the pulse point behind his left ear. "I'd make you do it while buried inside me." His breath hitches, and Misha smiles against his skin. "You’d come when I do, won't you?"

"Misha," he groans, tightening his grip on his lover's hand. Misha asks like he could help himself, like the very sight doesn't send him over the edge every time. “You were saying something about a surprise?”

"Mm. Relax for me," and Jared does, completely, sagging boneless into the bed. Sometimes, it's hard to believe he's here, hard to believe it's Misha kissing a trail down his spine to lick into him with a practiced tongue, hard to believe he ever lived without this. Misha's arousal presses into his leg, and he rubs against it. The other keens into him, and it takes all his self-restraint to keep from coming.

"Ah, stop, stop! Your surprise!" he protests, voice a little too high. With one last teasing circle of tongue, Misha pulls away. Then it’s cold and wet as something strange slides into him, and he has to consciously avoid tensing up. “Misha?”

“Shh…” Gentle fingers card through his hair. “It’ll be good.” Then it’s in. It feels like some kind of plug. Misha taps it, and the vibrations thrum into that sweet spot inside.

_Oh!_ It’s warm there suddenly. “What is it?”

“Hmm… Take a guess?” Misha straddles his hips, rutting into the crease of his ass, making the plug rub _right there_ , and he can’t think — it’s so _good_.

“Ah, Misha!” His cock throbs, and the warmth spreads, intensifies.

Misha leans down, nips at his shoulder, and pants out, “Aren’t you going to guess?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but the other’s hips rock a little harder, the plug jars his prostate, and all that comes out is a long moan as the pleasure burns through him, the thought lost.

“No fun,” Misha breathes, pulling away, and Jared rolls over to grab him, reeling the older man in for another kiss.

There’s such a contentment in this, under all the fun and passion, under the prank wars and the playful jibes. He could hold Misha in his arms just like this and never want for anything else. The tenderness in blue eyes always arrests him, imprisons his willing heart — he’s loved Misha for so long now.

They’d been filming the scene in season five where Castiel was trapped in a ring of holy fire and talking to Lucifer when he’d arrived on set, looking to see what pranks he could pull before his next scene. After all, he’d heard Misha was on camera, and making Misha crack was always fun, in addition to it being the perfect excuse for groping his very attractive colleague. They’d finished the take and were dousing the fire as he walked over and clapped Misha on the back.

“Hey Misha, missed me?”

Misha stumbled, and he caught him. “Th—thanks. And n—no, we got so much more done without you,” came the breathless answer, and the older man was shivering in his arms, skin clammy with cold sweat.

“Mish, you okay?” he whispered, concerned. “Let’s take a break. My trailer’s closer.”

Misha didn’t protest, just let Jared half-carry him back to Jared’s trailer and lay him down on the extra-large bed to hold him close and rub his back. The older man fit perfectly in Jared’s arms, and now that he had Misha, he didn’t really want to let go.

“C’mon, Mish, it’s okay. Talk to me. What happened? What’s wrong?”

Misha sighed, snuggling closer, the tremors subsiding. “I—it’s nothing. I just… My house burned down back when I was in high school. I was stuck inside for a while before the firemen helped me escape.”

The ring of fire must have reminded him of being trapped in his burning house.

“Why didn’t you tell them?”

The other shrugged. “I didn’t think it’d affect me. I’ve been handling fire just fine all these years. Maybe it’s just being surrounded by it.”

Worriedly, he asked, “You don’t have to retake that scene, do you?”

Misha shook his head, no. “It’s done. Don’t know if there are other scenes like it coming up though.”

“Hmm… Perhaps it’d be okay if we kept the fire low? Since you can work with fire in general, perhaps if it’s low enough that you don’t feel surrounded by the flames…”

“It might work.” He flopped back, taking a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds and exhaling several times. Then he giggled, glancing sideways. “I’ve just given you more prank ideas, haven’t I?”

_What?_ “Mish,” he turned, serious. “I would _never_ do that to you.”

Misha turned to answer, but when he did, their faces were less than an inch apart, and he stopped. Jared’s eyes flicked involuntarily to those parted lips before looking back up to find that Misha’s gaze had followed much the same trajectory. Till this day, he couldn’t say which of them had moved first, but the next thing they knew, they were kissing. Then they accidentally ripped the costumes in their hurry to undress each other just as Jensen walked in on them.

“What are you thinking of?” Misha asks, reaching back to wrap his hand around Jared’s cock and squeeze lightly.

Jared keens, head thrown back and back arching. It’s just shy of hot now, like his insides are slowly burning up, and it feels so good, yet too intense all at once. “Just Jensen walking in on us,” he manages.

Misha giggles. “I still can’t believe you two were never a couple. I mean, the look on his face! C’mon.”

“Never, always, same difference, right?” he asks with a smirk, and Misha pouts.

“Hey,” the other punches him in the torso halfheartedly, and he laughs. Offering him a bottle of oil, Misha asks, "Do you want me to ride you?" with a cheeky grin, and yes, of course he wants Misha any way he can have him.

He takes it and pours some out before kneading his way to Misha’s entrance. His lover sighs, hands splayed on his chest for balance, and lets him slick the way, doesn't so much as wince when he's breached. Misha is tight though. It's been a long time since they've done it this way.

"JT," he breathes, oiling his hand before stroking and squeezing again, and Jared bites back a whimper as it gets even hotter inside.

"It’s really hot, Mish. What is it?"

"Seriously not guessing?" A breathless giggle. "Ginger. I had some extra, so I thought we'd try something new." He bites his lip as Jared's fingers open him up. “Good hot or get-it-out hot?”

“A little bit of both,” Jared admits, moving his fingers in a circle and slipping in a third.

Misha’s brow creases with worry. “Hey, if it hurts—”

“No, no,” the reassurances tumble out in a rush. “Not yet. I’ll tell you, I promise.”

“Okay.” It melts into a smile, then Misha is shifting back and sliding down, eyes half-lidded, and he hurries to help, to steady. God, it’s still tight. “Okay.” A sigh this time as he’s fully seated, and for once, Jared is glad for the candlelight. He’s still not over how beautiful Misha looks, smiling down at him now.

Misha isn’t really the kind of man people usually consider handsome. To be honest, he doesn’t think he is either. That’s Jensen. He knows that. And sometimes, he wonders if it’s… rose-tinted vision, if this feeling is going to fade someday, and things won’t be the same after. Even now, most of Misha’s pictures seem more comical than attractive, and he feels guilty every time he thinks it.

And yet… There’s something about Misha that he can’t describe, that the pictures can’t capture, that just draws you in. It’s in the sound of his laugh, the edge of his wit, the size of his heart, and Jared just can’t get enough. He thumbs at the crow’s feet by twinkling blue eyes and can’t help but think that nothing’s going to change.

Everything that makes Misha beautiful only shines brighter with time.

He doesn’t know which of them moves first, but suddenly they’re kissing again, slow and unhurried, and in the shadows cast by the candles, it feels almost like sharing a secret, an intimacy.

"Jare?" Misha whispers, nose bopping his.

"Yeah?"

The other giggles. “Can I move now?”

He snorts in spite of it all. “God, yeah. I think my ass will be burning for days if we don’t finish this soon.”

Misha’s answering laugh dissolves into a breathy moan as he lifts his hips and sinks down again, and fuck, but it’s aflame where his hole is tight around the ginger plug now, and he can’t decide whether the sweet burn that makes it feel like every little nudge will set him off is worth it. He flips them over and begins thrusting, sucks a mark into Misha’s neck without really meaning to.

“Sh—shit,” he gasps as muscular legs wrap around his waist to pull him deeper. Every move makes the plug hit his prostate, and it feels like taking and being taken all at once. “AhAH!” Pleasure erupts through him, and his hips stutter as he comes, Misha echoing his cry soon after.

Ever thoughtful, Misha reaches around to pull the ginger out before he even registers the sensitivity, but between the lingering heat and Misha’s aftershocks, he doesn’t think they’ll be moving for a while.

 

"Mm, delicious."

They've relocated to Misha's couch, a long wooden daybed with a thick latex mattress covered in handmade quilts and cushions. It's huge, fitting Jared comfortably with Misha half-draped across him. They've yet to dress after their steamy shower, and Misha is feeding him the bread and stew from a bowl on the coffee table. He loves this house. There's something deeply personal about Misha making almost everything in it by hand — he'd literally built himself a home, and it's beautiful, just like him.

"Despite your valiant attempts to ruin it, I daresay it's better than the last round," Misha pronounces, munching on a piece of bread.

Jared smiles, kissing the top of Misha's head. "I had faith in you. Besides, the important items were already done."

There's a pause, then "Oh..." Misha smacks him on the shoulder. "So this was all a ploy to get to the cookies sooner!"

"I'm hurt, Mish." Woeful olive eyes meet accusing blue. "When have I ever needed an excuse to seduce you?"

"Fine," Misha gets up in a huff. "Have your cookies."

Jared stands as well to get the frosting and rainbow sprinkles. He brings all the tubs over just as Misha sets two bowls of cookies down. Misha gives them a pensive look before scampering back to the kitchen and returning with two plates, all the butter knives and several pairs of chopsticks. Wordlessly, they sit down to begin frosting, and Misha takes to it with such glee, like it's a contest.

Oh, _of course_ it is. It always is. Nothing gets Misha going like a challenge.

So he puts more effort into frosting the cookie in his hand, wondering what he should make with a base of vanilla frosting, but all he can think of is Misha. Misha with his numerous talents, his boundless generosity and his big dreams. The truth is it’s going on nine years now, and it kinda feels like they’re running out of time. Maybe when this show is over, they’re going to move on and go their separate ways, meet up twice a year like he does with Alexis just to catch up, and… he doesn’t want twice a year.

He smooths on some chocolate for Misha’s hair, draws the eyes in blue with a chopstick, and glances left to make sure he’s getting the caramel features just right. Misha is intently drawing on his cookie too, singing along to The Twelve Days of Christmas, and Jared would sing along if only he sounded anywhere nearly as good as Misha does. Dipping half the edge in rainbow sprinkles for stubble as a final touch, he sets his cookie down on the plate just as Misha finishes his and does the same. He stares.

“And here I thought we’d devoured enough of each other,” Misha laughs, curling into himself and rolling back on the seat. “Should we try it more literally now? You even gave me a rainbow beard!”

It’s his face Misha drew on the cookie with far more artistic ability than he could ever muster, and seeing the cookies side-by-side… “Did you mean it?” he blurts. Suddenly, he _has_ to know.

“Which part?” Misha asks, still chuckling.

He tells himself he’s not going to lose his nerve now, but he still doesn’t manage more than “Yes.”

Abruptly, Misha falls silent, and he tries to focus on the music.

“Jared, I—”

He’s grabbing Misha’s hand to stop him without thinking. “It’s Christmas,” he says plaintively, letting go. “Don’t ruin it?” He can’t help smiling wistfully at the cookies now, but it’s not like they’ve ever talked about something more before.

“No, you silly moose.” Misha grabs him by the shoulders. “Move in with me.”

He turns. _What?_

“I mean, you like this house, right?” Misha drops his hands, looking down. “I’m sorry, Jare. I’ve been meaning to ask you all year. It just never seemed like the right time, and… If I’d known it h—”

Jared interrupts him with a quick kiss, no less ardent for its brevity. “Shh,” he whispers, lips ghosting over Misha’s. “It’s my favourite song.”

Misha blinks, pays attention and smiles. It's so very Jared.

All I Want For Christmas Is You.

**Author's Note:**

> Cookie for your thoughts? ♥


End file.
